


Should I Do?

by joonehunnit



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Multi, One Shot Collection, Random & Short, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 14:08:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17285516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joonehunnit/pseuds/joonehunnit
Summary: Just a random one-shot. These characters could be anyone of the members- the idea was not to pin it to one idol but write something that could go on across the group or in other groups.





	Should I Do?

 

He’d been an artist for a good two hours, lights flooding the room and cameras going off. Now he was just fucking tired.

Slumping into a seat, he peered at the other members. All changing, removing layers upon layers of ‘idol’ off their faces to reveal exhausted, slightly pock-marked skin flanked by tired eyes and dark circles.

He turned his face upwards, ready to be doctored to his normal self by this new makeup artist that had recently taken to hovering over him, in a persistent bee kind of way.

His phone went off, as it did after a press conference. Yet another one of those. Answering questions upon questions about new songs but, more importantly, about new feuds and new girls and new boys if that was what the reporters were going for. ‘Hounded’ was the right word, he mused, for reporters who stepped in his shadow did it as often as a loyal dog would- that is, if a loyal dog could sell information ‘hot off the press’ like these ones could. A fiery anger had simmered down to a distracted annoyance, an attention that one would give buzzing mosquitos.

Clacking heels announced the arrival of a secretary- a new one, it would seem, making him wonder briefly about her predecessor. As all her predecessors, she was all done up, battle face on and ready to rattle through the schedule she had in her hands, with their well-manicured talons.

And rattle through she did- at 4 AM she was as energetic as he could ever hope to pretend to be. He half-listened, phone out and unlocked to scroll through the number of news notifications that yelled his name, each more creative than the last. “Taking the world by storm”, one said. “Shines”, said another. Maybe they weren’t all that creative, he reflected.

The _pings_ all blurred into one another in a sweeping chain on his phone screen, a latest addition to his show of wealth, nicely encouraged by his company, who had taken to dressing them in clothes from big brands with small tastes, for want of knowing where else to spend their money. There’s really only so much money could buy.

After the news came the deluge of fan comments. A sweet bunch, but with a million people dogging your every footstep, it was only fair that a man get terribly tired in quite a short while. Fights broke out between his fans and others, each bigger and more intense than the last. Concocting stories, of hatred and enmity, of friendship and goodwill, of the larger K-Pop world and being held accountable. The makeup artist dabbed on his face, the secretary rattled on. He adjusted his body in the uncomfortable seat. What he wouldn’t give for a nice sofa.

A text from a friend. “Yako said something about you. Cheggit” He clicked through the link and onto the landing page of a news website that attempted to make up for its poor journalism with stories to make Shakespeare blush. Red and bold; if the headline could talk, it would scream. “Yako writes diss rap for idol rapper.” No doubt, this had spiralled from the not-new comparisons made between the two. More likely, Yako was dropping a new album. For the next few days the tabloids would pick the story apart, the member would issue an apology drafted by a clever little secretary somewhere in the backroom, and in the midst of it all would drop Yako’s EP. Standard fare, really, but it was absurd how the press lapped it up.

And now the hounds were clamouring for a statement, or two, a couple words, _just one word?_ but he would stay mum and bide his time and let this tide over because a senior picking on a junior when his seat was being threatened was something he wouldn’t want to expound precious energy on. This would only fan the flames, and the headlines would get bolder and more accusatory, but really, if the show must go on, why not make it worth everyone’s while? In the end a text from him to the senior would suffice, a word of apology for the slip-up. But he’s got his press attention and Yako’s got an audience and a new lyric to add to his rap and the pets have been fed. Maybe he’d get a lyric off this too. Imaginary hands dusted. He had warriors- trusted fans who would go after the offending rapper, thirsting for blood- but once in a while things that weren’t supposed to escalate, got blown way out of proportion anyway.

Loud voices bounced off his sensitive ears, and he profiled one as his colleague, the other a sort of voice that could only belong to a simulation. He paid attention, now that his pretty secretary had clacked away, leaving him none the wiser about his next event.

His colleague was perfecting his accent, still rough with the Daegu nuances long after he’d left the place. This was unrelatable- as a boy born and brought up in the capital, his accent was what everyone wanted it to be- standard, lilting in all the right places, a mark that he was an idol now, nicely fitting into the mould the industry had made. No matter that the Daegu accent made girls swoon, that the Jeju accent was more interesting. As he’d been put through the motions, carefully carved into the public image he was expected to maintain during his career, his accent had also been polished, smoothened, rounded, just as his colleague’s hadn’t been.

“You suck!” he yelled at his colleague, a bit disappointed when a challenging retort didn’t ensue, as it usually did. Snapping at this colleague was the only reprieve he had from the mundane moment, but the delight of even that had been snatched from him.

He wondered when it all began. When he first started off, every flashing light was another human, another person that thought he mattered, that had lifted him out of his everyday and put him in a parallel universe of stardom and fame and _excitement_ that he’d only lived through idols on TV, vicariously. Now those idols were his seniors and his _hyungs_ and every new shoe and chain he saw in magazines was sitting pretty in his cavernous closet but he’d never felt so _alone_. Rose-tinted glasses shattered and while he harped on and on about loving the fame but staying humble and owing it all to this person or that person or the other person’s person, deep inside he felt robotic, every syllable thudding from this corner to that to another, quite like the new screensaver on his new MacBook Pro.

He made his way to the massive van, windows tinted black, that would take him and his members to their next event. When there were cameras, they talked and yelled and got along nicely, but when the cameras were off they each retreated into their own bubbles. Life together had gotten to all of them, and the debut-day eagerness to fill silence with any sort of talk was gone, replaced by the need for that very silence they were once wary of. He crawled into the back, resting his head on the bulky shoulder of his other member, half-lidded eyes looking out into the darkness beyond the windows, unseeing.

The cold was to-the-bone and for once he felt the weather was not to blame for it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Just a random one-shot. These characters could be anyone of the members- the idea was not to pin it to one idol but write something that could go on across the group or in other groups.


End file.
